


November 2nd

by katehuntington



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Comforting, Crying, Dean Winchester Angst, Emotional, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Grief, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Love, One Shot, Protective, Sad, Sad Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:17:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katehuntington/pseuds/katehuntington
Summary: The 2nd day of November, the day Dean’s mother died, is always a tough one to get through. This time however, Y/N is by his side to offer him support. (Dean x Reader oneshot. Angst, fluff)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	November 2nd

The two on the display of the alarm clock flicks into a three as minutes slowly pass. 8.03 PM, it’s almost time. Troubled, Dean lets the air escape from his lips and returns his gaze to the ceiling of the bunker. He hoped that after an exhausting hunt like the last, he’d be asleep by now. 

It took the hunters four days to track down a ghoul in Savage, Mississippi. Add a fourteen hour drive back home to that and you’d think he’d be out like a light before even reaching his bed. Unfortunately, it’s quite the opposite and he wishes they had run into another job on the way over to Lebanon, so that at least his mind would be occupied. But with no new cases lined up, he remains lying on his back motionless, sheets pulled up to his chest, one hand behind his head. His jaw clenches as he thinks of the tragedy that struck so many years ago. After all that time it should be easier, right? It should be less hard to deal with days like these, time heals all wounds after all. But not this one. This wound is the foundation of all his illnesses, of all his problems, of his_ life.   
_ He removes his hand from behind his head and settles back into his pillow, running his fingers through his hair. Again he glances aside at the neon numbers that tell the time. 8.08 PM now. He squirms a little, annoyed by the space he has all by himself. The bed is much cooler than usual, it seems bigger too. It’s because Y/N is missing from it. 

He had withdrawn into his room a couple of hours ago and failed to invite her to come with him like he usually does. Now that he thinks of it, he has been giving her the cold shoulder for at least a week, so no wonder that she didn’t follow him to his chamber. Why does he do that? Why does he push everyone away who cares about him whenever life gets hard? He didn’t mean to ignore her on the ride home, he didn’t mean to snap when she adjusted the heater on the dashboard when she got cold. He didn’t mean to shove her hand away when she comfortingly laid it on his leg as a sign of support. Yet he did and he feels like an absolute dick. She is only trying to be there for him, to be the supporting girlfriend. But he can’t have it, he can’t accept it. If she witnesses how broken he truly is, why would she possibly want to stay with him? And yet treating her like dirt isn’t exactly delivering the message that he wants her with him either. _Shit, he’s such an idiot. _

Then the timepiece on the nightstand changes again, hitting 8.11 PM. His eyes linger at the display and he swallows back the lump that started to build in his throat. Eleven past eight, the moment the clock in Sammy’s nursery stopped ticking. The moment Azazel set foot in that room and fucked it all up.   
Dean averts his gaze away again and shuts his eyes. Four years old at the time, but he remembers so many details. He remembers the intense heat from the fire, his mother’s horrifying screams, the smell of burning flesh, his father handing baby Sam to him. 

_ Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don’t look back! Now, Dean! Go! _

That’s when his mission started, that’s when the four year old grew into an adult. That moment right there changed everything. That moment when his mother died. 

Soft creaking of the door interrupts his vivid memories and when he opens his eyes he sees Y/N, peeking inside his room.  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she excuses herself timidly. “Just wanted to check in.”  
“It’s okay,” Dean replies, voice raspy.  
“I’ll get my stuff.”  
Almost shameful, she moves into the bedroom and picks up her duffle bag, but Dean stops her.  
“Where are you going?”  
His questioning eyes are softer than they have been for the last couple of days. For the first time this week he seems genuinely worried about her and she ceases her actions.  
“I can take a hint, Dean,” she returns, fiddling with the handles of the bag. “Look, if you wanna end this, I get it. I’ll move out.”  
“What? No!” He sits up, regretting every action or word that made her feel unwanted. “C’mere.”

He can see that she has been longing for his invitation. Despite her efforts to hide it, tears shimmer in her eyes and it’s only now that Dean gets how scared she was. It couldn’t possibly be that she thought that he was going to break up with her, right? Insecure, Y/N moves closer and sits down on the edge of the bed. Bruising has started to surface on her right jaw, visible signs of the fight she had with the ghoul. He didn’t even ask her if she was alright.  
“I’m such an asshat,” Dean muddles, realizing the effects of his behavior as he grabs her hand and squeezes it softly.  
His eyes meet hers and beg for forgiveness, but that’s not what she’s after. All she wants is to understand what is going on in that mind of his, why he’s building this Berlin Wall around himself.  
“It’s alright,” she assures, glancing down at their locked hands as she moves her fingers over his battered knuckles softly. “Just… Please explain to me what’s wrong. If I did something to upset you, then I–”  
“You didn’t,” he promises, trying to soothe her by gently cupping her face. “You think I’m acting this way because of you?”  
She shrugs as her bottom lip begins to tremble. Unable to prevent her eyes from welling up, a single tear comes down her cheek, Dean wiping it away when it reaches his thumb. 

To her, the signs were clear, though. He pushed her off, declined any affection and refused to talk to her. Maybe after being together for five months he got bored with her. Face it, Dean’s relationship track record isn’t very impressive; he hasn’t been able to hold on to a woman for very long. Why should she be any different?  
“Hey, look at me.”  
A pair of green orbs stare into her soul when she dares to meet them. The warmth coming from his dark pupils takes away some of the doubt, but not nearly all of it.  
“You are the best thing that happened to me in a long,_ long_ time. You couldn’t possibly do anything wrong. This is not on you, you hear me?” he tells her, remorseful. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

His eyes bounce between hers before he comes closer and presses a soft and tender kiss on her lips. It calms her down in an instant and she answers him gratefully. It’s amazing how Dean is able to wash away her insecurities, but then again he always had that effect on her. The lack of his love drowned her in doubt so overwhelming that it caused her to question everything she stands for. But the presence of it, well… let’s just say he is able to make her feel so incredibly special, that she could take on the world.   
  
When Dean opens his eyes again and creates a little distance, her smile that had faded over the past week is back. He mirrors the expression, but can’t prevent his heartache from showing too.   
Although he convinced her that she didn’t trigger his behaviour, it’s clear as day that he’s carrying a burden around that is forcing him on his knees.  
“Then what is it, Dean? Please tell me,” she asks again. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

He nods, but breaks eye contact nonetheless. Talking about the things that keep him up at night has never been his strong suit. He can’t even remember the last time he talked to anyone about his mother, except for Sam, who used to occasionally ask about her death when he was younger. Even then he wouldn’t waste more than a few words, too afraid it would surface emotions that he was glad to have buried so deep. But when he looks at Y/N again, he does the one thing he has never done with any woman: he opens up.  
“On November 2nd, 1983, my mom was killed by a demon,” he starts off. “Today is the anniversary of her death and it’s uh - it’s always been a tough day for me.”  
He gazes away into nothingness as the warm light from the lamp on the bed stand shimmers into his teary eyes. She watches him, her mouth slightly opened in shock by this devastating unravelment, as compassion for her partner grows.   
“Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas… They’re not really that much of a celebration when you barely have anyone left to spend it with,” Dean continues. “I was right there when it happened. Even though I was just a kid, I remember and… I-I don’t know, I just can’t seem to be able to let it go.”

As he tells her what happened that dreadful night, she folds back the covers and snuggles up next to him, filling the emptiness that was there in her absence. Turned on her side facing him, she listens to the story, leaning on her elbow as her free hand grips his.  
“The thing is… that if she hadn’t walked into the nursery that night, Azazel probably would’ve left her alone. She would’ve seen her kids grow up, Dad would most likely still be alive. Sam and I wouldn’t have learned how to fire a gun at the age of six,” he scoffs as he rubs his brow. “We would’ve had a childhood, a home… We would’ve been a family.”  
His voice breaks on the final word and he keeps quiet, knowing that anything else would come out shaky. He tries to focus on the ceiling light, hoping that if he does, he will be able to keep it together. As he struggles to stay strong, Y/N continues to run her thumb over his hand, not letting go of his grip. 

“I know it’s a dysfunctional one, but you have a family, Dean. Sam, Cas, me… We’re in this together,” she speaks wisely, trying to comfort him. “And I didn’t have the pleasure to meet your mother, but I bet she’d be damn proud of you after everything that you have done for the people you care about, and not just for them. You saved the world, Dean.”  
He keeps staring at the ceiling, shaking his head. He’s not a hero. He started the damn apocalypse. He tortured souls in Hell. He did unimaginable things.   
After swallowing thickly, he dares to test his voice again.  
“This is not the life she wanted her kids to be raised in.” He knows. “It would make her so sad if she knew we’re hunters…”

The tightness in his chest overwhelms him, it pushes the tears that were gathering in the corner of his eye over the edge, causing them to run down his temples. He doesn’t want her to see this side of him, this weak and vulnerable excuse of a man. But he can’t help it, he can’t stop himself from breaking over his mother’s death for the first time since she passed. He fights the shake in his breath, the tears that keep gathering. Even as a kid he would bury it, stuff it all down and hide it for no one to see. It was one of the first things he learned in order to protect himself. But tonight, he can’t keep his grief at bay.   
_God_, he misses her. He misses hearing her voice when she sang ‘Hey Jude’ to him before bedtime. He misses how she smelled like spices and cinnamon whenever she was baking pie. He misses how she hugged him whenever he needed comfort. He misses her _so damn much_. He chokes back a sob, his free hand running over his face to cover it. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Y/N hushes. “It’s okay, Dean. Come here.”  
Y/N ushers him to roll into her, folding her arms around him. He lays his head against her chest, the steady metronome-like heartbeat coming from it calming him. It helps to steady his breathing, despite her tight cradle. He has never felt so safe with anyone except with the one person he is mourning over, and so he lets himself go. For the first time, he doesn’t feel the slightest uneasiness in their hug and at that moment he knows. He knows that whatever this is between the two of them, as long as Death doesn’t intervene, it is going to last. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? Death always intervenes, Death always takes a hold. It’s only a matter of time, like it’s only a matter of time before November 2nd passes. And like every year, tomorrow it will be easier to look up, to get out of bed, to fake a smile. What is different this year, though, is that he has someone by his side who understands why. 

It takes a while before Dean’s respiration calms, before his eyelids stay closed. Finally, he’s asleep, but she won’t let go of him and continues to stroke his hair, pressing a soft kiss on his head every now and then. She won’t let go until it’s November 3rd.


End file.
